


Anarchic Attraction

by kittykat28888



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Anarchist Society, Anarchy, Explicit Language, F/M, M/M, Nightmares, Temporary Character Death, longfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-06-04
Packaged: 2018-01-19 08:50:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1463176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittykat28888/pseuds/kittykat28888
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an anarchist "society," people made it a general rule to not be dicks. You got caught stealing, you got shot. You got caught mugging, you got mobbed. It wasn't illegal, <em>per sé,</em> it was just that nobody fuckin' liked getting stolen from. Hence, you got the shit beat out of you. Nobody was going to stop it. Assholes got weeded out, often viciously, so as not to make life a living hell for everyone else. Therefore, the number one rule in an anarchist society would actually be to not get caught. Michael Jones, as a surprising number of his friends know, is a dick. Today was the day he broke the number one rule; today, Michael got caught.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: So. Couple weeks ago, my mom gave me an idea of something to write about, telling me that her and my dad had been discussing anarchy and that he thought it was impossible to survive that way and my mom thought I would be able to write something about a successful anarchist society. So I accepted her challenge and here we are! Let me know if you have any questions, and let me just say, I like to let my readers know what's going on in my life, so you better get used to long author's notes. I'll start off small though ;) so as not to overwhelm anyone.
> 
> I may end up making this part of a series and retelling parts from other characters' POV, just so you all get the full story. Maybe, maybe not. Also, I tag the absolute shit out of my stories, so be prepared, because even though I don't know where exactly this story will go, I will tag it accordingly.
> 
> First chapter, my dears. Read up!

In an anarchist "society," people made it a general rule to not be dicks. You got caught stealing, you got shot. You got caught mugging, you got mobbed. It wasn't illegal, _per sé,_ it was just that nobody fuckin' liked getting stolen from. Hence, you got the shit beat out of you. Nobody was going to stop it. Assholes got weeded out, often viciously, so as not to make life a living hell for everyone else. Therefore, the number one rule in an anarchist society would actually be to not get caught. Michael Jones, as a surprising number of his friends know, is a dick. Today was the day he broke the number one rule; today, Michael got caught.

He sat reflecting on what exactly he did wrong to lead up to his current predicament, considering things like; if he'd accidentally left a window open the owner must have known was closed, or; if the owner was actually home when they'd been thought out at the market -- all the while tied to a cheap plastic lawn chair in some basement somewhere, acting as the human embodiment of a bad horror movie. He at least hoped they'd kill him quickly, whomever they were, though considering he wasn't already dead, he figured they had something else in plan. Rape, maybe. Slavery. It wasn't exactly illegal in a country with no laws, so it wasn't exactly as though there was anything stopping them. Then again, that had been what Michael had told himself when he broke into their house, and he clearly knew how well that had worked out for him.

Regardless, with nothing to pass the time but to count the knots on the wooden beams stretching across the ceiling, or try and figure out how long the food in the refrigerator nearby would stay cold were the power to go out, as it was apt to do with as few regulations as there were, he simply sat and waited. For what, he had no clue. For his assailant to return and do whatever they wanted? To starve to death? To be sold to any number of yearning masters looking for a nice new slave to add to their collection? He was a well-built, able-bodied man in his mid-twenties — they could make a fortune off him.

He was refraining from putting a gender on whomever had caught him for a couple reasons; first and foremost being that females of the realm were in every way as equal as their male counterparts, just as violent, just as selfish, and just as capable of taking down a guy like Michael without the slightest trouble whatsoever, especially if he didn't see you coming before you cracked him in the head with a two-by-four. Women had to be tough. Children had to grow up young. The instant you had to depend on anyone for anything, you were fucked. Those who did, and lived in our lovely little dystopia, didn't last long, usually. One of the very few exceptions were infants and young children. You didn't take from new mothers, mothers with children under ten-ish, or mothers-to-be. You just didn't.

As far as getting cracked in the head went, the thought alone sent the back of his skull into a throbbing frenzy. Naturally, it didn't stop when a shaft of light blinded his right eye, stretching until it covered the rest of his face and eventually illuminated him in his entirety. A heartbeat after he probably should have, he realized his attacker must have returned, with all the materials needed to whatever they wanted. It wasn't until he looked up and saw the silhouette's hands at their side that he noticed they didn't have anything. Regardless, in his position, they could do whatever they wanted to him. The dread he'd been attempting to bury resurfaced instantaneously as they took a step toward him, a hand raised. He winced when a switch was flipped and light flooded the surprisingly large room, and that's when the confusion set in.

Before him stood a tall, lanky man who didn't look a day over twenty-five with green-blue eyes that caught his attention almost immediately and golden brown hair that looked like it hadn't seen a brush in his life. He could see how the muscle in his arms would be enough to put up a decent fight against Michael, but he certainly didn't look strong enough to have left the bulging bruise on the back of his head, much less take him down just in one hit. He perked up when he saw Michael, presumably awake for the first time that he'd seen, shooting him a small smile that was both oddly reassuring and positively terrifying before turning head to shout over his shoulder, "He's awake, Geoff!"

 _Well, that solves the mystery of who knocked me out,_ he thought, feeling condemned. He assumed Geoff was this guy's boyfriend until he called back, "Alright! Me an' Griff'll be over there just as soon as I find my fuckin' kid. I'll see if _she_ knows where Kylie is, 'cause I sure as dicks don't." Michael realized just what a mistake he'd made at the word "kid."

The man turned back to him with an honest-to-God good-natured grin, not the slightest hint of malice or suspicion. It was a wonder he'd gotten as far in life as he had if he could trust someone like Michael at the drop of a hat. These people, Geoff and Griff and Kylie, must have been supporting him from the get-go. The stranger sat cross-legged on the ground, no further from Michael than from the fridge five feet away, and told him with the same goofy, purely unconcerned smile on his face, "Don't worry about Geoff. He'll scare the shit out of you at first, but if you can get him to like you, he's the biggest teddy bear on the planet." His eyes didn't stray from Michael's a millimeter as he spoke.

"Aside from maybe Jack," he continued, tilting his head, "but I don't see him nearly half as often as I see Geoff, consid'rin' I don't live with 'im, so I wouldn't really be the best person to ask. In any case, Kylie's tagging along, 'cause Geoff promised that he'd let her kick the next idiot who tried to rob us in the shin, which is why you're all tied up like that. Normally, Geoff just shoots 'em in the head after instillin' the fear of God into 'em and gets it over with, but what with his promise to Kylie, he doesn't wanna take any chances in you being low enough to hurt Kylie, since she's only eight an' all." Michael's heart sank. _Fuck, they really meant 'kid,'_ he thought. "I personally don't think you look the type. But if Kylie's here and she ends up liking you, then Geoff's bound to as'well. An' Griffon's a sweetheart too, so don't worry; as far as people go, the chainsaw's just for looks."

Michael, try as he might, couldn't seem to swallow the knot in his throat that arose at the word _chainsaw._ Choosing instead to focus on less life-threatening things, he thought about the blond's accent. It wasn't often you heard anyone with an accent around here. If you were different, you were ostracized. You were refused everything from furniture to food at the market in exchange for anything except maybe physical labor or sex, and the shopkeeps were anything but gentle. Michael would know. That in mind, he couldn't get over how much this guy could talk; moreover, how much he could talk about _absolutely fucking nothing._ For him to have been smuggled in here, like he assumed he must have been, he must have had to have been almost completely silent any time he was out of the house. Michael wasn't particularly wordy himself, but the thought of having to let someone else talk for him wherever he went didn't appeal to him in the slightest. He was sure it must have driven the other insane.

It wasn't until he went to ask his name that Michael realized he was gagged on top of being tied up. You would think that'd be one of the first things he would have noticed, along with how sound seemed strangely muffled in this room, but he hadn't noticed either thing because the thought to scream for help hadn't once crossed his mind. Only pussies screamed for help, or begged for mercy, and Michael was no pussy. It's not as though anyone would have come to help him anyway. When somebody's screaming for help, more often than not, they deserved what they were getting, so people had long since stopped caring and now ignored the cries and acknowledged them as nothing more than an average part of daily life. Besides, Michael was more one for accepting the inevitable than attempting to avoid or prolong it.

As though he could read his mind, the man added, "M'name's Gavin, by the way. I'd ask yours, but what with you being gagged as you are, it'd be rather rude to presume you could answer. Geoff didn't find any kind of identification on you, either, so it's not like I already know your name or nothin' like a bloody creeper." Gavin was still looking straight at him with his oddly captivating green-blue eyes while he cocked his head. "If I remove your gag for a moment," he began, the last word practically stopping half-way due to his accent, "firstly, will you promise you won't tell Geoff, and secondly, you won't bite me or nothin', will you?" Michael nodded. For whatever reason, he liked this guy, even though he was clearly somehow related to the family that would mostly likely be the death of him. In any case, there something about the tan foreigner he liked, and he had only the slightest desire to get him in trouble with anyone.

"Awright, good. I'll have to put it back when Geoff gets over here, 'kay?" Once again, he nodded as the other stood to walk over to him. Long, slender fingers deftly slipped beneath the dishrag tied above his jaw and slid it as gently as he could down past his chin. The damp part rubbed awkwardly against his neck while he turned his head to wipe the drool on his chin on the shoulder of his sleeve. Gavin waited for him to look back up, sitting exactly where he'd been before, with an eager expression, reminding Michael a bit of a puppy. "Right then, s'what's your name?"

"Mi—" He stopped to clear his throat. "Michael."

"Hi, Michael!" he said, waving frantically as though he was seeing him for the first time. There was something odd in the way he said his name, but Michael couldn't put his finger on it. "How's i'goin, mate?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Well, seeing as I'm strapped to a chair awaiting my beheading from a psycho lady with a chainsaw, I'd say it's going pretty fucking well, wouldn't you?"

Gavin's smile dropped, eyes widening. "Oh goodness, I'm sorry. I didn't mean t'scare you with that. Griffon's nice, really. She probably won't actually hurt you. And Geoff only kills out of necessity, to protect his family. You seem nice, though, so I doubt he'd hurt you."

"I don't really think it matters. I'm either gonna end up dead or enslaved, in which case I'd escape as soon as possible or die trying, so all things considered, I'm dead anyway."

"That's not true, you mong!" he shot back, his grin having returned as though it had never gone away. "I bet I could convince him to let you go. I couldn't stop you from gettin' kicked in the shin, though. Geoff says Kylie's gonna have to learn to take care of herself someday, and as little and wiry as she is, she can really pack a punch. I've been on the receiving end more times than I'd like to say, mostly because I do something to annoy Geoff and he just sics her on me like a bloody dog. Hopefully she'll grow out of that. Anyway, I'm sure you'll be fine. How old are you, Michael?"

He asked the question like they were having a casual conversation waiting for the shopkeep in the market to finish with his customer before they fought to get ahead of each other. Judging by tone alone, you would have no idea the person he was conversing with was strapped to a chair in a creepy, albeit well-lit, basement. Regardless, Michael found himself answering before he even realized it. "I'm twenty-six. Almost twenty-seven."

"That's great, we're the same age almost! I myself am twenty-five, nearly twenty-six. When's your birthday? Maybe it's the same day as mine!"

Michael shook his head, letting the slightest smile escape him. "July twenty-fourth."

"Oh, bollocks, not the same then. We're still pretty close though." He turned his head, smile fading as he thought for a moment. "How come you robbed us, anyway? Or, tried, I guess."

"I have my reasons," he muttered, looking away as whatever hint of a smile had appeared vanished.

"That was rather personal, I suppose. My bad. I didn't mean anything by it, 'cept that I was curious, 'cause everyone has their own story and everyone's story is really interesting to hear and I wanted to know yours, and I'd be totally okay with telling you mine in exchange, and—"

"Gavin, what in the hell are you doin'? I told you to go check if the asshole was awake, not sit down and have a cup of tea with him!" If he'd known Gavin better, he might've considered his offer. Not that it mattered, seeing as they were interrupted by who he could only assume was Geoff.

Gavin leapt up and spun around, alarmed, perfectly blocking Michael's view. "Oh, sorry, Geoff, I wasn't doin' nothin', I was just — h-here, let me—" Geoff repeated his words in a mocking tone, over-accentuating his accent before rolling his eyes and calling him an asshole. Gavin quickly tried to reinstate the dishrag with not a trace of the caution he'd had before.

"Ow, you fucking dick, knock it off!" Michael snarled, shaking his head furiously when a fingernail caught him.

"Forget it, moron," Geoff conceded with a sigh, footsteps thudding on the stairs. "I would have taken it off anyway."

"Right, sorry, Geoff," he mumbled, stepping back with his head slightly bowed.

It was then that Michael finally caught a glimpse of the man named Geoff, and was instantly scared shitless. Every inch of skin from wrist to bicep and probably far beyond was covered with clean, professionally-done tattoos from ranging from stylized stars to some kind of gnarly bird, as well as some surprisingly fresh tattoos on the back of each hand — an anchor and some kind of fish-woman. He had no idea where the man had had his tattoos done; there weren't many safe practices around due to a lack of restrictions, but he looked healthy enough, certainly not poisoned by the ink beneath his skin.

To his right, standing defiantly with her chest puffed out and her arms crossed, was undoubtedly Kylie, just as small and wiry as Gavin had described and no taller than Geoff's waist, a baseball cap pulled over her thin, tawny hair. She looked pissed and determined — a dangerous combination in anyone, even an eight year old.

On Geoff's left, most likely, was Griffon, his presumed girlfriend (marriage wasn't really a concept anymore, considering there was no legal reason to get married and people had far more important things to deal with than marriage paperwork). Less than two inches shorter, she stood regal and proud a half-step behind him, head half-shaven of chocolate brown hair and the other half draped over her shoulder. A ball-ended septum ring hung between her nostrils, and Michael began to wonder if they did all their body-mods themselves. As if the badass hairstyle and piercing wasn't enough, the chainsaw held in her hands only contributed to her fierce appearance.

Geoff looked straight at Michael as his daughter ran over, kicked him in the shin, just like she'd been planning to, and yelled, "You're a mean idiot, and you can go straight to hell!" Michael cringed, both in pain and at her volume. He could almost see the softening in her father's eyes while his watered and dared to hope for an instant that Gavin had been right, that he'd like him and let him go to rob another day. Of course, that was until Griffon stepped forward and started up her chainsaw, revving it up and looking to her boyfriend for confirmation. He hesitated, but nodded all the same, and it didn't take long for the hope to drain from Michael's eyes as he held his head up high, waiting.

You see, in a country where so few things were mass-produced like they used to be, people usually ended up making things themselves, and these things were often, although very similar to, not the same as what they were based on. For instance, a shelf in a homemade chest of drawers may have two knobs and five sides, but it might not have the metal shafts and plastic rollers that would make it easier to slide open. In this case, it was a homemade chainsaw that, rather than having a gasoline chamber, had an AC current-dependent surge protected power box. As Griffon took a step towards the red haired thief, instructing her daughter to go upstairs, the lights in the basement flickered, and the chainsaw sputtered and died. Unperturbed, she yanked the ripcord back into action, but as the lights shut off entirely, the ardent growl that had filled the air went with it.

Turns out, Michael's aimless musings from earlier had been of the very thing that had saved him for the time being. The cracked shout of, "Fuck me, the power's out!" was ever-uncommon music to his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyyyyy chapter one, complete! Review, dolls~


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: It's already starting. For those of you who don't know, I lived with my grandparents up until recently. I've been back with my parents for about a month, and already the power's been out twice. The first time was JUST MY ROOM. The second time? As I'm fucking writing this. For no goddamn reason. _Whatso-fucking-ever._ That means no internet. Yayyyy.
> 
> In other news, I've had this done for like four days, but I didn't want to put it out immediately 'cause I wanted to space out the time between updates. Working on some semblance of an update schedule. It's working so far. I can't wait for chapter three XD I would also like to say, as far as I know, Ray's fictional parents bear no resemblance whatsoever to his real parents. As a further disclaimer, no views in this reflect exactly the views of the real people. I'm simply taking what I know of them and transposing it as best I can in a different setting, taking some creative liberties along the way.
> 
> Chapter two, lovelies. Enjoy~

Being knocked out, though unconscious all the same, doesn't rest you in quite the same way sleep does. After all Michael had been through that day, the stress of breaking in, the physical harm inflicted upon him, his tenuous "nap," and the hope-crafted rollercoaster that led to the most frighteningly heightened bout of pure adrenaline coursing through his veins for over an hour (the first ten minutes the source and the rest simply cooldown time), he was fucking exhausted. So it came as no surprise that all the man wanted to do was lie down and sleep for a couple years, but seeing as he was _still_ tied to a chair, he would have to settle instead for sitting down and sleeping for a couple years.

Of course, he hadn't even allowed himself to consider sleep until he was absolutely certain the family wouldn't kill him during it, although he did feel that if he had to go, that'd probably be the best time to do it. Griffon had come up to him immediately after her chainsaw had died and gripped his face so hard he could feel the skin along his jaw bruising. "Later," she snarled, adjusting her hand so that her fingernails dug into his flesh a moment before releasing him and storming out of the room, chainsaw in tow, in a decidedly pissed manner.

Geoff had looked after her with concern in his eyes and followed, throwing the words, "Gag him," as he went.

Suddently, Gavin's face was back in front of his and he was, gentleness returned, replacing the dishrag. He muttered, "Sorry, mate, but I'm not about to disobey. I get on Geoff's nerves enough. I won't let them hurt you though, at least until you're awake. You look tired. Try to get some sleep." For whatever unfathomable reason, he believed him.

And "try to get some sleep" is exactly what he did — cutting down his desired few years to the much more reasonable space of an hour or two. When he did wake, he heard voices that came from what sounded like the other room; there were neither any windows nor lights on for him to see anything that would confirm his assumption. It was all he could do to attempt to make out the conversation, which luckily, wasn't very difficult. Years of experience had taught him that whispered tones were more easily overheard than soft mutters, which wasn't a piece of knowledge he assumed the couple could exploit, seeing as they were whispering loudly enough for him to discern every syllable.

"...him, I'm not gonna let you do this again."

"Again?! What do you mean, again? The only other person I did this with was Gavin and we both know you wanted him to stay just as much as I did. Look, all I'm saying is, we listen to the kid's story, figure out if he needs any help, and then send him on his way. If he was stealing for himself, then we take him out, but if he has a family he needs to feed, you can be damn sure I'm not gonna take him away from them."

"Geoff, we're short enough on food as is—" The mention of food set Michael's stomach rumbling. "—the last thing we need is another mouth to feed."

"I'm not suggesting we let him stay, Griff, honestly. Well... okay, maybe for a few days — a day!" he amended quickly. "Just as a sort of apology for cracking his skull open. And like I said, that may not even happen. I might end up killing him on the spot. If it comes to that, all I can say is I wish I wasn't out of bullets. We'd either have to wait until the power comes back on, which could be another week, or I'd have to just snap his neck, and that's not something I wanna have to do again."

"Oh honey, I know. It's not exactly something I want to put you through again either. Really though, I don't think we'll have much of a choice. What if he tries to rob us again? Or a neighbor? Or even someone halfway across the city? I'd feel awful knowing we could have stopped him and d—"

"What if I didn't come home?" The question was asked in a normal tone of voice.

"—idn't.... Wh-What?" She responded in equal volume.

"What if I went out to trade for some food and never came back? Left you and Gav and Millie here all by yourselves. Soon enough, everyone would have enough furniture and appliances that they'll stop trading for because they're too damn sick of the lack of power, and you're left to sell your body and everything else you damn own just to eat because one of the main supporters of your family just up and vanished one day."

"I... I-I don't know. That's... why would you—?"

"I think about it every day, Griff. I think about what would happen to you guys if something happened to me. I think about what would happen to the rest of us if something happened to you. It scares the shit out of me, every goddamn day. What if that's this kid's deal? What if he's got a girlfriend to take care of, or a kid? Would you feel more awful letting him go and hearing that he did the same thing a block away, or killing him and then finding out his family starved to death 'cause Daddy never came home with anything to eat?"

"...Killing him, probably."

"See, Griffon, that's exactly what I mean. I say we just give him a chance, okay?"

She sighed. "Dammit, Geoff. Fine. We'll give him a chance to explain himself. He answers wrong, he's done, no exceptions."

"Of course." Footsteps began and stopped at the call of, "Hey!"

"What?"

"I love you."

"Go away," she replied, laughing. The floor shook slightly as Geoff crossed it and Griffon's laughter picked up with a scream. "No. No! You know I'm ticklish, knock it off, _Geoff!"_

"Gosh, you guys are so _cheesy,"_ a familiar foreign voice teased.

"Oh, shut up, Gavin," Geoff shot back. "Why don't you make yourself useful and go check if asshole's awake again?"

"Maybe I will."

"Yeah. Okay. Go do it."

"Oh, dammit, I meant won't!"

"I don't care what you meant, how about you just go _do_ it?"

"Yeah, sure, fine." He stood at the top of the staircase moments later, a rueful smile at his own stupidity plastered to his face. Michael decided the best course of action would be to feign sleep and figure everything out in his head. He wouldn't have to lie too bad to get on Geoff's good side; he did have to take care of Lindsay and Ray, and even though they weren't blood related (well, he didn't think so, anyway), they were like family to him. Between him, Lindsay, at least ten years younger, and Ray, only seven years behind, not one of them had parents to their name. Michael's left when he was ten because he was too much of a burden to them and they figured, by that age, he could take care of himself.

Starving, severely malnourished, dehydrated, and dangerously ill at the age of eleven, he stumbled onto a doorstep near the alley his parents had left him in and lay there, curled in a ball and expecting death, until someone found him. That someone happened to be Ray's mother. The four-year-old himself had tottered out from behind her leg and crouched beside the sick boy, petting his hair and looking up at his mom with wide eyes. She immediately bent down and carried Michael inside, setting him on their raggedy couch. That was where she carefully nursed him back to health until he was strong enough he could help out.

Ray's father didn't like him too much, thought of and referred to him only as "that freeloading son of a lazy whore." It came as no surprise when the man disappeared. Ray's mother, though dead-set on keeping the two of them alive, didn't have any way to support them by herself. As soon as their food stocks ran out, she was whoring herself out at the market, coming home with bruises on her neck but a bright smile and a basket full of flat bread and fruit in each arm. She gave every last morsel to who she thought of as her kids. Her end was met in the middle of the night when her stomach finally devoured itself and her body simply gave out. Burying his mother took a massive toll on nine-year-old Ray and turned him into the shy, obsequious boy he was. Michael feared where the kid would be if it weren't for him — nineteen and he still saw him as the little boy dripping tears on his mother's emaciated corpse, cursing his father with tiny, trembling fists for doing this to her.

Lindsay, on the other hand, he knew next to nothing about. An average day in their house, two years after Ray's mom died, an uncommonly stocky girl appeared in the backyard. Ray had noticed her through the kitchen window and called Michael over. She was just crouched there, picking at the crabgrass and dirt. When they walked out to her, she looked up and waved. "Hi there!" Couldn't have been much older than five.

"Um. Hey," Ray replied, kneeling next to her. "What'cha doin'?" he asked, voice unusually gentle.

"Teawing out gwass," she told them, as though that explanation was the most obvious thing in the world. Her Rs weren't quite there yet, either.

"Is your mommy or daddy around?"

"Who?"

Ray looked at him in confusion. "Keep an eye on her," the older boy told him. "I'm gonna go see if some dicksuck's trying to steal our shit. I wouldn't be surprised if she was bait."

He nodded in affirmation before turning back to the girl, asking her a question Michael didn't bother to hear. After he'd given the house a thorough once-over, he returned to the back doorway, about to report to Ray when he cut him off at the door, pushing him inside.

"Right, so this girl's really creeping me the hell out. She keeps telling me she doesn't have parents, she's never had parents, what are parents. How the hell do you survive without ever meeting your parents?" The question was asked with an increasing note of panic.

"Well, how old is she?"

"She doesn't know! It's like she was dropped in our goddamn backyard by aliens."

"Alright, relax. Maybe she's been abandoned," he wondered aloud, looking past the dark-haired boy and out the door. Her dirty-blonde hair hung like a curtain and blocked her face from view as she continued to pull at the weeds. "What's her name?"

He looked immediately confused then shook his head. "Didn't ask." He followed Michael out the door to the girl.

"Hey." She looked up. "What's your name?"

She twisted her face as she thought. "I'm not suwe. I like Lindsay, though!" she decided, beaming. "My name's Lindsay, call me Lindsay!"

From then on, the girl who called herself Lindsay had become a part of their odd little family. Neither of them really knew for certain where Michael got their food from until Lindsay turned twelve (she had latched onto Michael's birthday and decided she was six when they found her, so technically, he could be anywhere from nine to twelve years her senior. They really weren't sure. Either way, no one ever came looking for her, and the boys quickly came to love her like a sister. They weren't necessarily sure they'd have given her up even if anyone did). She'd been the first to volunteer to help in his heists, and the first to be met with a resounding "no" from both boys. Ray didn't like Michael doing it in the first place, the last thing he wanted was for her to get involved as well.

Ray, of course, had found his own way to help out by the time he'd turned fifteen. He had scavenged enough mildewed instructional booklets and leftover electronics to reverse-engineer them and teach himself how to make things more useful to people now. Novelty items didn't really have much value to anyone save maybe ranchers, or farmers — people who could make their own food. Everyone else was too concerned with surviving to give much of a shit. But watches, fans, batteries, flashlights, things like that, those were valued. Even the occasional Geiger counter had crossed Ray's hands. It wasn't as though the country had fallen into anarchy after a nuclear war, but with the number of nuclear power plants that had melted down over the years, if you could afford it, it was better to know that the path you took to the market wasn't lousy with radiation. Rotting from the inside out from radiation poisoning, watching as, every day, more and more skin flaked off, and crusted eyes sinking deeper and deeper into wan sockets burnt away completely — it was easily the worst death conceivable.

Gavin's shout of, "He's still sleeping!" jarred Michael back to reality.

"Fine," the man called back. "We'll have to deal with him in the morning. I guess we should all get some rest until then."

Footsteps receded into the back of the house, and he expected the foreigner's to follow. Instead, he continued down the steps, closing the door behind him and flicking on a flashlight. Michael briefly wondered through half-lidded eyes if that was one of Ray's. "I know you're not sleeping, Michael." He blinked open his eyes only to squint at the bright light. "Oop, sorry," he muttered, turning it down. "Do you mind if I keep you company for a bit? I'm not really tired." He shook his head. Gavin's face, previously serious and very clearly tired, melted into a lazy, equally as tired grin. He stowed the flashlight under his arm, aiming it so he could see properly, as he took off the gag for the second time.

"Hello, Gavin."

"Whoa, that was a nice bloody change. Usually it's arsehole or moron, and those are the nice ones."

Michael worked his jaw, trying to get the stiffness out, and wondered, if he got into this guy's head enough, if he could convince him to untie him completely and he could get away without having to manage a conversation about his dependents with Geoff. "How come you stay with him, if he's such a dick to you?"

"Well," Gavin began uncertainly, "he's not _really._ I think he kind of sees me as a son, though he'd never admit it. I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm not from around here. My home country's going through a revolution, and I figured I'd rather have it done and over with than be sitting pretty in the thick of it, so I hightailed my way to what's left of the mighty States. Geoff caught me trying to rob him, too, but I noticed him before he got to me and tried to explain myself in the hopes that he'd just let me go instead of put a bullet in my brain. To my surprise, they went so far as to take me in. They're good people, the Finks. Well, technically Geoff Fink and Griffon O'Connell. I've been here six years and I still expect them to have the same last name like they're married or summat. I guess old habits die hard.

"You hungry?" he asked, looking to the fridge. "May as well do your part in keeping our food from spoiling. I think there's something in here."

"God, yes. I'm starving."

"In a literal sense or figurative one?"

"Both." Gavin chuckled and attempted to hand over a heavily bruised apple before realizing Michael had no way to grab it.

"Hm. If I undo your hands, you won't vanish in the middle of the night, will you?" the blond asked, setting it on the thief's thigh.

"I'll try my hardest," he shot back, laughing softly.

"Oh, _wow,_ your laugh is great. Er — I-I mean. It's nice to hear someone laugh. Yeah, that's it." One exceptionally nervous half-giggle later, Michael was free to roll away the tension in his wrists.

"Th'nk you, Gav'n," he muttered, having stuffed the squishy fruit in his mouth as soon as he was able.

"No problem," he replied, taking a less-ravenous bite of his own. Between chewing, he began to regale Michael with his life story, an awkwardly-told thing Michael found just as strangely captivating as the man himself. He hung on every word, asked the occasional question, and got a bit more than he bargained for with each. Gavin told of his parents and siblings, whom he'd left to fight their war. While his younger siblings didn't know what do with themselves other than follow their parents' will, and his parents had been long too involved in the war for their freedom from an oppressive government to give it up, Gavin had been at just the age where he had both the know-how and license to make his own decisions, so he got out of there. He did wonder how they were doing sometimes, and hoped they hadn't gotten themselves in too deep.

He also told of his best friend Dan, a brave, true military-taught man, four years older, who'd thought much the same of the revolution as Gavin had and agreed readily to leave with him. It was only through a combination of bad luck and being in the wrong place at the wrong time that he didn't make it overseas. His heart hurt to hear the tone the foreigner's voice took when he talked about Dan. He wondered if there had been something more than friendship between them, but didn't let the thought linger long. They talked until time was a mere concept in the back of their minds, Michael leaning down and trying to obscurely untie his feet in the interim. Gavin caught him, of course, but he brushed it off saying the ropes were cutting it into his skin. The man let it go, and Michael quietly celebrated the brazen trust this guy put into him that would allow him to escape.

The two chatted through the night, the redhead having moved to the floor at some point while formulating a plan to sneak out after Gavin fell asleep. They sat knee to knee and told each other about themselves, Michael finally relenting and telling his story in kind. They laughed together at things Michael wouldn't have even considered laughing at before, the older man somehow finding it in him to let loose despite the severity of the situation, and they somehow forged a friendship on that hard, filthy floor beneath the house he'd been caught and kidnapped in. When Geoff came looking for Gavin with the rising sun and found him and the burglar lying side-by-side, sound asleep and practically curled around each other, he almost wrung both their necks right then and there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone notices me randomly switch to first person at any point in the narrative, please don't hesitate to let me know. I normally write first person and with dialogue like I write, it's hard to maintain the third person. I've already lost track already of how many "us" and "we" and "I" mistakes I've made outside of dialogue. Other than that, rather pleased with this chapter.
> 
> I was writing this drunk and tired one night. Somehow, "habits" had turned into "hajj'll" and I guess I had a thought in mind as to what write next, so to remind myself I wrote, "Wait long, binds, blah blah more backstory yay." What a frickin' mess.
> 
> I'm gonna try to update every Monday, but more likely than not, I'll be updating on _a_ Monday. Review please, darlings~


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Ugh, things. Good-ish things, but also not good things kind of. Mostly BOYFRIEND. I haven't slept in like two days because sleep is for the weak and I have more important things to do — catch up on RT, for instance. Play GTA V. Things like that. Speaking of television related things, I've fallen into the habit of getting home, hooking up an HDMI cable (I broke it, never mind [the cable, I mean, not the habit. Now I just have to sit about four feet closer]) to my laptop leading to the TV, and putting up an old video I saved for-fucking-ever ago or something on the TV while I play Minecraft or write on my laptop screen. Listening to music through the TV speakers is hard though, because no matter the fuck what I do, it tries to equalize the audio and it either comes out ridiculously loud or not at all. _#FirstWorldProblems._ It's really neat-o writing on the TV though.
> 
> It rained. That's a thing. I wasn't expecting that. I noticed I had a much better grasp on the expected weather when I woke up to the news at my grandparents' every morning. That doesn't happen anymore.
> 
> Also, though I am by no means an artist in _any_ traditional sense, I was bored during Chemistry (what else is new) and I doodled Michael tied to the chair. By doodled, I mean drew very carefully for an hour and a half. A scan of it is linked on my [Thigns & Sutff](http://achievement-tooths.tumblr.com/thigns-and-sutff) page on my Tumblr.
> 
> I'm hella sick and I'm a terrible person for taking so stupidly long to write more than a freaking paragraph but my parents suck and keep making me do things, regardless of my inability to stand for more than thirty seconds without leaning against something or falling over, but now I'm listening to Jason Iscariot's new album, [We Mars](http://jasoniscariot.bandcamp.com/album/we-mars) (holy shit this album is fucking phenomenal), and I'm forcing myself to write 'cause otherwise I won't, so this chapter should be out before long. (It's 9PM Pacific on the 25th of May as I'm writing this. We shall see.)
> 
> Anyway. Chapter three, loves. Enjoy~

Sleepy footsteps thumped across the floor before an audible gasps of surprise was heard. "Geoff, the power's back." The call came whispered but loud, and the man it mentioned reentered the main house with an expression of exasperation burned on his features. After a brief conversation, the boys downstairs were woken in a vicious manner — a chainsaw revving furiously mere inches above their heads. Griffon was relying on the boys to shrink away from the loud, scary noise to keep themselves from being beheaded as they sat bolt upright. Gavin almost leapt straight into the blades before Michael's protective instincts kicked in. It was only through a combination of Michael's hand on his chest and Griffon rearing her chainsaw high above their heads that kept him from being torn apart.

Gavin's eyes widened when he realized why he was being held down and immediately scooted back, glaring up at the fearsome blades before turning to glare just as furiously at the woman wielding them.

"What in the bloody bollockin' 'ell're you doing that for?! Y'almost just _fucking_ killed me, Griffon!" The stress he put on the curse led Michael to believe it wasn't something he did often.

The paternal concern in her eyes was masked after a moment as she tried to save face. "Well, that's not my problem, is it? Maybe you shouldn't be releasing potentially dangerous thieves in the middle of the night and endangering the rest of my family," she retorted, cocking a hand on her hip.

"He's still here, ain't he?" he asked plaintively, glancing back to ensure that, yes, the thief in question was indeed still there. "If he was aimin' to do sommat, he would'a done it by now, wouldn'e?" It would appear the man's accent was stronger when he was angry. Or sleepy, though Michael couldn't tell how accurate that observation was due to how quickly he was woken. "Buggerin' 'ell, I ain't out to put up with this shite." With that, he pushed up and off the ground, about faced, and stormed out of the room, taking a nuance of tension with him. It still crackled around the room until Griffon switched off her chainsaw and steadied it on the ground, leaning against it.

Geoff looked at his girlfriend in concern as she swore under her breath. "Don't worry about the kid, Griff. He'll come around."

She sighed, staring at the ground. "What if he doesn't, though?" she asked, looking up at him with wide, glistening eyes. "Everyone's so goddamn stressed, and you know this is hardly the first time he's been mad at me. What if he's finally had enough?"

"Where else is he gonna go, honey? His only other home is, what, three thousand miles away? He hasn't got much of a choice. He'll get over it." They talked as though Michael wasn't still there, eyeing the chainsaw suspiciously and wondering if he could sneak out without getting noticed. Somehow, he doubted it. They were distracted, but they weren't blind.

"But I don't want him to stay somewhere he doesn't want to be. He's... just as much my child as Kylie is. I don't want him to hate me for some dumb idea of yours."

"He doesn't, Griff. Sure, he'll be mad for a bit, but he did almost split his head open. It was my idea, you're right, bad call. I'll talk to him, okay?"

She sighed. "Yeah. I guess." She caught a glance at Michael's foot as he shifted and immediately glowered at him. "This is your fault. If you hadn't been here, he couldn't have untied you and gotten Geoff all riled up, and then he wouldn't be mad at me." Her logic made about as much sense as a car in the marketplace, but if she really did see Gavin as her son, there wasn't much else to be expected from an upset mother. Not that he really had much experience with upset mothers.

Which wasn't to say he had all that much experience with getting dragged up a wooden staircase by the collar of his shirt before now either, but there it was. The large, less upset but equally willing to do something about it partner of said upset mother had latched onto his shirt and forcibly carried him into the main house, turning to his right and throwing him into what he assumed was the couple's bedroom by the seat of his pants. He simultaneously landed hard on his face and realized just how _badly_ he had to pee.

Closing the door behind him, Geoff left for an instance and murmured something to his girlfriend, whose soft footsteps soon faded into the house while Geoff's heavier ones returned to the bedroom. "So, Griffon and I have been talking, and—"

"I hate to interrupt, Geoff," Michael blatantly interrupted, "but I've gotta piss like a son of a bitch and I'd be pretty damn grateful if you'd let me use a your bathroom before we get into a discussion that could possibly decide whether I live or die."

Geoff looked momentarily taken aback, a slight amusement sparkling in his eyes as he nodded. "Sure, whatever kid. Door on the left. Gavin's in the living room, tell him to come in here, too."

"Thank you, sir," he said nonchalantly, highly conscious of the eyes watching him as he relayed Geoff's demand to the blond foreigner before making his way to the only door on the left. Peeing quickly, he washed his hands and left, only to nearly walk into the little girl who'd kicked him.

"Does my daddy know you're out here?" she asked with crossed arms, coming off as surprisingly threatening despite her size. _This kid'll go a long way,_ he thought, almost smiling.

"Yeah, your dad knows I'm out here. I'm actually going to see him right now." He tried not to sound mean, because even though she didn't really pose any threat to him what with his lack of bindings and all, he didn't want to scare her, which he was sure he could. She followed him with narrowed eyes as he returned to Geoff's room. He stopped outside the door and knelt facing her. "Kylie," he said with a gentle smile, "I'm really going to see your dad. You don't need to follow me."

"But what if you aren't? I'm not afraid to beat you up, mister," she informed him, immediately going to a fighting stance, tiny raised fists and all. "You're a bad man, like my mama tells me about. I'll beat you up."

Michael laughed again and pushed open the door to the room Geoff was in. The man, sitting on the edge of his bed, looked up at the intrusion. "Look, see? He's right here. I'm going in to talk to him right now."

"You knew he was out here, right Daddy?"

Jaw dropping and drooping eyes widening, he asked in what could only be described as complete and utter astonishment, "He _was?"_

Kylie gasped and faced the still-crouched thief beside her. "I knew it! You're a lying jerk!" she shouted, kicking him again in the exact same spot she kicked him before.

"Ow, oww! Knock it off, ow!"

"That's enough, Kylie, you got him good." The girl stopped, holding a fistful of Michael's auburn curls and fist inches from his cheek.

"Are you sure?" she asked, looking as though she would have no problem continuing to attempt to beat him up.

"Yeah, honey, you did good." She beamed at him and dropped her hands, her smile missing a few teeth.

Michael stood up while the girl skipped away, wincing at a small forming bruise on his cheek and rubbing the sore spot on his scalp as he walked into the bedroom. Pausing, he lifted up his pant leg to find a dark bruise. Geoff had gotten to his feet and was now glaring at him with crossed arms, and it struck him how similar he and his daughter were. Shaking the thought off, he looked up at Geoff and stated pointedly, _"Ow!?_ What was that for?"

"Upsetting Griffon."

"But I didn't even—!"

"Sit." All bets were off now. Michael didn't argue. "So then," the tattooed man began, taking a seat next to him. "What's your story?"

"My... what do you mean?"

"Exactly what I asked. You could start with your name."

"Michael."

"Good. Now; everything else."

"Uh. Okay. You want the long version, or... I'm not exactly sure what you're asking," he informed him, despite knowing exactly what he was asking for.

"Tell me about yourself. Who do you live with? How do you eat? Any backstory you're uncomfortable sharing might save your life right now, so you're best off giving me the long version."

"Oh. Uh, okay." Michael launched into the story of his early childhood, everything from his abandonment to informing Lindsay and Ray of how he brought home a vast majority of their food, stressing needlessly how dependent the other two were on him, and how, though Ray had some skill, he couldn't take care of the both of them on his own, and how worried and scared they must be without him. Needlessly, he decided, because he could practically see Geoff's heart melt as soon as he told him of his childhood.

"It's not anything honorable, the way I bring home food for the three of us, but it's all I've got to go on," he said to settle the deal, seeing that Geoff had taken the bait, hook, line, and sinker. "I wish I didn't have to, because everyone I take from, they're all honest people who actually work hard for something to eat, and I just take it from them without offering anything in return. In all honesty, I probably should have died when my parents left me, but through some miracle and undeserving generosity, I survived, and now it's all I can do to keep these two alive as well." The pseudo-tears in his eyes didn't go unnoticed by Geoff and it seemed to be all the man could do to keep from tearing up himself.

The silence pressed in heavily on the two of them. "Alright. Stay here," Geoff commanded finally, leaving the room. Indistinct voices were heard on the other side of the closed door, both male, before they quieted and two sets of footsteps were heard leaving. A third joined them as they returned minutes later and Geoff led the others through the door after him. "Against my better judgement—" _Yeah, right,_ Michael thought, awaiting the words that would free him. "—we've decided it's for the best that we let you go." He nodded solemnly, feigning give-a-shit, and stood up. _Get fuckin' played, sucker,_ he thought, grinning internally.

The elder man held out his hand, which Michael shook firmly. Before letting go, Geoff looked him in the eye. "But if we catch you around here again, your face will meet my boot without any hesitation."

"Of course."

"Good." And with that, he walked past the unorthodox family of four and out the door.

"Nice meeting you, Michael!" Gavin called after him, waving.

He cracked a smile and waved back. "Guess it was nice meeting you too, Gav."

* * *

"Michael! Holy shit, Ray, Michael's back!"

"Michael! We thought you got caught!" The redhead was mauled by his housemates the instant he walked through their front door. His head cracked painfully against the floor, but he managed to ignore it for favor of greeting _his_ family.

"Oof! Yeah, missed you assholes too. Now, uh... can I stand up?"

"Nope!"

"Nah."

"Great." Hearing the two of them laugh easily brought Michael's spirits up again. All he'd been thinking about walking back was how easily Gavin's family _could have_ killed him. Though a lot of what he'd told Geoff was true, he'd definitely bullshitted how dependent the two were on him. Sure, they needed him, but if he really did die, he didn't doubt they'd find some way to keep on. Either Lindsay would finally be allowed to take his place, or she'd be forced to do something none of them even wanted to think about.

"So," Ray began, the two of them finally letting Michael up to take a seat on their beat up couch with Ray following close behind. "Where the hell were you?"

"Oh...," he started furtively, gesturing in the air. "Around."

"Bull _shit,"_ Lindsay put in, plopping down on his right. Incredibly, despite their less-than-ideal eating habits, she'd somehow managed to remain at a well-fed weight, while the boys were perpetually thinning out. It might have had something to do with the two of them giving her more than what they got as an unspoken rule, or it might have had something to do with her gender and the hormones that went with it, but either way, she wasn't as light as she probably should have been, given the circumstance. "Explain."

"No."

"Yes."

"You guys aren't gonna like it."

"Nobody cares, Michael."

"Did you guys eat last night?"

"Yes, don't—"

"How?"

"I went to the market," Ray answered. "Now—"

"With _Lindsay?"_

"No. I went alone and traded some stuff. Now, tell us where you were."

Their glares rapidly broke him down. He let out a heavy sigh. "I got caught," he mumbled finally, looking straight forward. Ignoring the gasp from his right and huff from his left, he stood and went to the kitchen, opening a cabinet and looking for something to eat. He didn't find much; the cabinet was barren. "I made it back though, didn't I? So shut up about it, it isn't a big deal."

"It's a major fucking deal Michael! God, I told you I didn't like this, they could have—"

"Thank you, Ray!" he interrupted, trying another cabinet. "Yes, I'm well fucking aware what they _could have_ done, _however,_ as you can clearly see, they _didn't,_ so I'd thank you kindly to shut the fuck up and forget about it."

"But—"

"Lindsay, please. I don't wanna talk about it, alright? Can I just — have that peace of mind? Please?" He watched as the two of them exchanged a glance.

"Sure. Okay, Michael. We'll leave you alone," she said, tone soft. For a second, he was worried he'd upset her, but the notion was tossed when she wrapped her arms around his waist and mumbled, "We missed you," with her face pressed into his back.

He abandoned the cabinet and turned to hug her back. "I know. I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"Promise?"

"Mm-hmm." Ray cleared his throat when she didn't let go, and Michael glanced up at him, smirking. "What, you want in on this? Come get some Michael lovin', Brown Man, plenty to go around!" Lindsay giggled and Ray rolled his eyes, but joined the group hug nonetheless.

When they parted, Ray demanded, "Don't leave again, not unless you leave food. The market kinda freaks me out."

"Aww, was little Ray ascared of the big, bad shopkeepers?"

"Course not! Who do you think I am?"

"You were too! He came home, Michael, all pale and shit, like he'd seen a damn ghost!" Lindsay informed him, giggling.

"Did not!" Ray countered.

"Did too!"

"Nuh-uh!"

"Yeah-huh!"

"Nuh-uh! I did not, she's lying."

Michael, who'd been watching their exchange with amusement, shrugged wearing a smug expression. "Okay, Ray, I believe you."

"No you don't, shithead, get over here!" At that, he pushed around Lindsay and lunged at the redhead, who darted around the same girl and sprinted into the living room. "I'm gonna kick your ass!" he threatened, giving chase.

"Please kid, I could lay you out in ten seconds flat!" Michael argued over Lindsay's laughter from the other room.

"Bullshit, I'll take you down right now!" Chasing Michael around the bathroom, past the staircase, between it and the kitchen, and outside, he finally gave up, panting and leaning against the fence for support.

"Gotcha!" Michael tackled him from behind. Ray, first, screamed like a little girl, second, held up his hands in surrender, utterly defeated.

"I give, you win, you win!"

Towing the younger male behind him in a headlock, he returned to a red-faced Lindsay in the kitchen. "What was that about taking me down?"

"Nothing," he muttered, embarrassment flushing his face.

"You're damn right it was." Releasing him, he added, "Maybe we should fight every now and then. Build up some muscle on your skinny ass in case someone with worse intentions than me ever tries to fuck with you."

"Please no," Ray pleaded instantly.

"I think it's a good idea," Lindsay cut in. "Even I could beat you up, Ray."

"Right now, sure. If we fought for real, I doubt it."

"No, she's right dude. You barely stand a chance against a _kid,"_ he told him, a ridiculous image of the Ray and Kylie in a boxing ring coming to mind, the former nonchalant at first and scared shitless later, and the latter looking ready to kick the shit out of him from start to finish.

"Well I wouldn't hit a kid, would I?"

"What if the kid hit you first?"

"Under what circumstance—?"

"Never mind. Point is, you've really got to start finding a way to protect yourself—" Geoff's word's flashed in his mind. _I think about what would happen to you guys if something happened to me. It scares the shit out of me, every goddamn day._ "—'cause I might not always be around to do it."

Lindsay and Ray spoke at the same time. "What d'you—?"

"Why wouldn't—?"

"You know, just, forget it," he growled, sighing. "I didn't mean anything." The air in the room went from comedic to confused as Michael exited, shaking his head. Once he was upstairs, his housemates looked at each other.

"What was that?" Lindsay asked, concern flowing through her.

Ray bit his lip. "I... don't know. Maybe it's something to do with him getting caught. Like, he realized how quickly he could be out of our lives. Just, he gets caught again and then _poof,_ gone." They both looked back to where Michael had disappeared beyond the ceiling, silence falling long enough to hear a swear and loud bang, presumably from his fist hitting the wall.

After a moment of silence, Lindsay, who had indeed gone with Ray to the market despite the two of them having told Michael the exact opposite, piped up, "To be fair, those shopkeepers _were_ kind of scary."

"Shut up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DONE. FUCKING FINALLY. Jesus Christ, that took longer than it should have. Fucking finals the rest of this week and then SUMMER BAYBEE, HOLY SHIT I CAN'T WAIT TO HAVE ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD TO FUCKING _SLEEP._ Goddamn. Review, pretty please~!


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